


Hollywood, Birmingham

by TechnicolourRomantics



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: 1970s, Best Friends, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, New Romantics, Plans For The Future, Sarcasm, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicolourRomantics/pseuds/TechnicolourRomantics
Summary: Two boys sitting in a room, planning the course of their lives with one another.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	Hollywood, Birmingham

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! First time round here on the story side! Thank you guys for the confidence in me to put stuff up about the wonderful Fab Five we all know and cherish. I've always felt strongly for the Nick/John as teenagers chemistry so it felt most fitting for them to be my debut. Read and enjoy! :)) 🌹💛

_**Hollywood, Birmingham** _

_**1977** _

“Ha! That’s a million. Done-deal!” his eyes shone, eagerly pushing the pawn along the board to its final destination. 5th time in a row. And he won every time they had played in the past week. 

They played every time Nick came round, well surpassing Jean’s prediction that they’d be sick of the damn game in a day or two. If they wanted to, they’d milk it until boredom would leave the game with an unpleasant, stale aftertaste. But it would only be a matter of time until they would be back Chartbusting all over again, like how they would both drown themselves again the lushness of _Siren,_ or any other Roxy Music record, after weeks of dutiful rotation over a mounting fear of spinning the vinyl one time too many. 

There was a chosen art to it - save the freshness of the sound for keeps, but reward their ears with the punching hit. And savour it.

Though right now, they were far from spoilt for choice.

“Did you really think you could climb it?” Came withering, eyelined eyes, scrutinising Nigel’s bundled-up leg, sprawled on the navy bedspread with bits of unravelling bandage betraying the home-done wrap up job. 

“I told you! It wasn’t far up at all!”

“Far like an 8 feet drop, you mean.” More withering. “Your glasses were off, weren’t they?”

“Come on, Nick. I’m not blind.”

“Somehow, I really doubt that.” A ginger pat for the unsightly bundle.

Nigel was grateful it was only a clean break, a small physical price to pay for stalking around the fenced up, abandoned bar in the next town up, rumoured to be a past hotspot for jarring, cheap glamour and sleaziness.

Once a place for losing oneself in whatever melancholic, weary, adults got up to, now a perfect opportunity served up just for him to cook up some inspiration for his graphic design assignment. Old, dusty, dilapidated interior with the textbook broken windows, almost eerie but pushing him further to explore. Neon tubing lined the bar area, weak with chemicals far past the end of their life, turning a faint limeade, mottled with bubbles. Neon meant ideas, and ideas meant better design.

If only he had any ideas about how to quickly exit before some nosey old, wrinkled lady caught him loitering, the journey out much more difficult than in, and when his friends tugged him too far off the gaudy blue wall his spidery leg caught on a stray birch limb on the way down. 

Safe to say that all limbs involved were broken. 

Which was precisely why they were now in Nigel’s tiny room, shovelling through a packet of custard creams, with said injured party on the bed and the younger boy sat aside on the worn rug, picking at the broken biscuits at the bottom of the pack.

“Come up here, I’m knackered.” Nigel’s eyes closed, shifting slightly and patting for Nick to sit. He wasn’t in the mood to lose another game. 

Arcing the balled-up packet into the bin and missing, Nick joined him, a grin flitting across his face in poorly hidden embarrassment. 

“And you say I can’t judge distance.” A smirk twitched at Nigel’s lips, eyes still fixed on a spot of war-model paint on the ceiling, too lazy to bother looking at Nick, who he already knew was narrowing his eyes at him. 

Not entirely correct.

It was moreso a canted head to the side, ruddy red on his cheeks far from temporary, regarding Nigel in the way he guessed he always had. Since thirteen, a tinge of something else, barely recognisable, swam among the boyish camaraderie they had forged together, as solid as steel. Pastel, rosy, delicately hand-painted steel.

Staring intently at the paint, Nigel’s thoughts drifted to the very artists they’d always chime in with when playing their board games. 

“Can you imagine that, just coming up on there and making crowd go fucking bonkers?”

“Huh?”

“Groups. Artists, I mean. Being the next Ferry.” His own eyes widened at the thought.

“And the pigs will fly if we’re ever as big as Roxy.” 

“Oh piss off. You really don’t think that could happen?” 

“Well it could...” Nick turned slowly, affording him a solid smile, “I guess it could happen.”

“Imagine us two!” Nigel looked at him with a side-on grin, verging on mad, as he always did when he was fantasising. “Well, we’d need a band I think. If we wanted world domination.” 

Whatever they were on about, they hardly knew Britain outside of their close reach, let alone the uncharted waters of a whole globe, literally speaking.  
  


“Yeah, parading around with the display rack of Harrods on our shoulders too... actually, that doesn’t sound all bad.” The idea of looking stylish on the daily was tantalising.

“Fast cars, all the girls, hey!” 

“All the Palladiums and Odeons and Opera Houses and Square Gardens!” Nick rattled off. 

Their eyes gleamed, these big-name places so far off the radar of their tiny Brummie town they were of course, unreal. Big guys got there, not the lanky, little runts they were. Nigel’s glasses would fall off mid-performance and he would most likely fuck up his guitar part, and that would be that.

“Would you want that?”

“I guess, if I could stage light however I wanted to,” Nick’s fascination for showtime aesthetics didn’t pass the other boy by, or anyone for that matter, “...lilacs, flaming oranges, vermillion, aquamarines…” Trust him to set a stage like having an intense read of the packaging on a poster painting set. 

“Ooh the birds, Nick! The birds!” Nigel’s eyes widened, looking to Nick and smiling, joy somewhat marred by friend's skeptical eyebrow, reminding him of his painfully shy self, much too self-conscious to even hold a running conversation with a girl at school.

"Hanging off your arms." 

"And leaving us so terribly hung in the mor-ning." Nigel sing-songed, causing them both to split their sides. 

Returning back to their lavish visions of female grandeur, Nick agreed that pretty girls sounded lovely, out loud. 

But _they aren’t the only pretty ones_ , came internally, gaze flicking across Nigel’s beaming visage. Fifteen, combined with a long running internal curiosity that hadn’t faded over time, had him award himself with prolonged looking at his older friend more carelessly than he would like to admit. 

The makings of a chiselled face, shapely formed behind those moody eyes and the lips adorned with a touch of bright cardinal painted there by Nick himself earlier in the day. It called out to him, it called out to his own closed-mouth smile, trying to cover what could be covered. But also baring what could be bared.

Pretty.

“It could be real, Nick! We could really be up there with all of them.” his head turned hard again with glasses nearly flying off, towards their board game pushed to the corner of his room, messily propped against the bookcase.

“The honorary Bowies one day,” Nick snorted at the image. "that'd be diamond." 

It was enough to have them both snicker, well aware that that would go down about as well as dinner after nauseatingly gorging on fizzy drinks beforehand, paying no notice of much they could drink while the afternoon run of _Top Of The Pops_ aired.

“But even the world’s cheering us on from the start.” A slow Nigel smile spread again.

  
“Come again?” 

“We do hail from Hollywood.” he giggled, unable to resist, “...Hollywood, Birmingham.” 

Nick punched him on the arm, pushing it into the springy bed.

“Sickening, Nigel, that was horrible,” laughing himself, "I don't even hail from Hollywood." he quipped, looking so crestfallen that the other boy couldn't help but burst out laughing again, only dampened by the now familiar pain darting through his leg.

Surely it could be foreshadowing, a sign that the universe held inklings of a possibility, for him or Nigel to make it somewhere big in life. Perhaps together. 

“If only we could really do that…” Nigel regarded him, through the falling strands, deep brown and tangled, on his forehead, “hey Nicky, could you get me some orange juice?” 

Nick tried not to laugh.

“Sure.” It had been over two weeks of basically immobile Nigel. He was by now used to the random requests for juice, amongst other snacks stocked in the kitchen that Jean always chastised him for pillaging. Turning on the little boy charm wasn’t hard though, and she always let him raid the pantry for whatever he or Nigel wanted. Besides, she couldn’t offend the guest, though he was there so often lately the house could easily be his own. 

He dashed nimbly back down the now-purplish hallway to Nigel’s room, the last of the afternoon rays gleaming across the white ceramics under his feet, careful not to misstep and shatter the glass everywhere. 

He handed it to Nigel and drew his blinds closed, the evening routine at the Taylors’ now his too. 

“Thanks.” he gulped down the juice, spluttering and narrowly avoiding a mass of orange pulp going down his windpipe.

“Everything alright there?” he suppressed another laugh, resisting hard from taking the mickey out of his friend.

“Yeah, just some pulp.” he cleared his throat again, smiling a little.

Seeing Nigel like that, comically trying to clear his throat of pulp while smiling sheepishly along the way in bright red embarrassment, kindled something in the younger boy. A lingering sense of protectiveness, sprinkled with amusement, mirth and more blurry smudges of … attraction. 

He couldn’t help it, moving close to Nigel from his spot on the sinking bed and planting a light kiss on his cheek, more affectionate than it should have been, the satisfaction he allowed himself to momentarily appease himself. There were feelings, the emotions treacherously trying to tug him under, to no avail. He often never let himself be swept away to the sea unless he felt the current truly welcomed him. 

_You’re so lovely._ He bit back his words.

Now he felt more washed up on rocks with Nigel looking at him, wordless. He retreated back, freezing slightly inside, thankful for the nuanced glow of the dim emerald table lamp that told nothing. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I apologise. That was odd. You should probably get some rest, you know, mend the leg. We can talk tomorrow. I should be getting home.” his voice trailed off squeakily, almost nervously, but he stopped himself before he could take the tumble.

Nigel merely stayed staring at him, face unreadable. 

Internal assurance tried to soothe Nick's mind, desperately pulling at him to maintain his cool.

_Friends do that, don't they? We're friends, Nigel and I are best friends. The boundaries between us meander slightly, but they're there. Didn't fuck this up. Did just what a best friend does._

His streaming monologue was interrupted with a tentative hand on the knee of his cross-legs. And a boy placing pressure, fire branded hands set swiftly on his neck. 

_Nigel?_

Nigel tittered right at him, in front of his face, a small trill of laughter. Lips curved most infuriatingly, though Nick spotted telltale nerves surfacing, unavoidable. Those striking eyes, so mellow and brown.

“What?” Nick looked back to him, vexed at the boy seeming so unaffected while his own heart was flip-flopping around erratically.

“It’s alright.” 

“ _What’s_ alright?”

No answer. 

They stayed like that for a bit, just taking in one another. A feel of something growing, thickly curling around their bones. A palpable, coiling warmth that they could physically grasp, holding them together in a blanketed space of Nigel’s cozied room, while the dreary night time rain outside continued its liquid course. A steady pitter-patter from the humid drizzle setting their heartbeats to a strong, staccato rhythm. 

The answer came when Nigel’s snickers melted away in the low light, leaving behind something darker, much more developed at seventeen, exposed on his now rosy features.

It was killing Nick, the butterflies, crashing willy-nilly into the walls of his stomach when he felt those hands return back to his neck. 

Now pulling him down.

_Oh, boy._

Down to where he hoped he would go, albeit with a quiver and pause or two. But to where he wanted to. 

And in all truth, where Nigel wanted to take him.

Past the legs, past the broad chest, past the damned beautiful face.

Down to a pair of cardinal lips, flashing a lopsided grin, before they pressed strongly, sweetly onto his, sending a lowly adrenaline rush through the veins.

_Well not that. Not sure that was platonic._

He decided to straighten out his questions by kissing back, parting his mouth ever so slightly, thrown into the heat of the moment.

Sweetness burst past his own cherry lips, remnants of the citrus juice on Nigel's tongue. He felt alive, content and alive.

It was brilliant, bloody brilliant, the mood shift. Fantasising like boys over the trappings of a life they could lead, to kissing him, right on his bed, his best friend with two years on him.

So much for trodding carefully around borders, boundaries - they had now broken the dam. 

Nick had twisted onto his side, perched against Nigel's pillow when they drew back, still very much in each other's circle. Their shared buzz.

Nigel swallowed before looking at Nick again, contemplating the sharp, but feminine form of Nick's features, and whole demeanour. Just like the leggy birds he so often dreamed about.

"You'll stay over the night, won't you?" he asked, wholly afraid of asking too much of Nick, "your folks will be fine with you over, won't they?" 

Nick nodded firmly. How could he not? How could he leave Nigel with no company while he suffered from boredom due to his leg? How could he leave when they'd put out such prospects for the future? How could he go home, far away from the boy whose lips were answering his unasked questions from long ago?

He sidled to the side table, flicking the switch of the lamp off and retreating back to lay beside Nigel in the dark. Both boys knew they could comfortably react with obscurity freely washing over them.

While the new developments awakened a luscious connection between them, fear still danced through their veins. They were only boys after all. 

Silence. Living off the warmth of one another close by. Nigel’s mind wandered insecurely again.

“If we ever do make it big, d’you think anyone would go for me? Girls... or even guys I guess? Interested in my guitar and I, I mean.” 

He swore he saw Nick rolling his eyes in the dark. 

"You needn't worry about that." his slow, soft drawl moulded a shape through the dark, "I fancy you."

Hormonal waves burst through in Nigel’s chest, painfully sweet.

_Fancy._ The word would sound pretentious out of any fifteen year old's mouth but Nick's. Out of Nick's, it meant anything but.

Nick moved closer in again, more confidently this time, but halted at a sound from the door.

The doorknob turned and light spilled in, the shadow of Nigel's mother standing in the doorway.

"Lights off already?" 

"Nigel's tired." Nick piped up, still lying too close next to him.

"You're not home yet Nick?" 

"Staying for the night. My parents know."

"Alright then," she smoothed her blouse, "rest up Nigel, and you too Nick. Don’t be up too late and don't finish the pantry, you have tomorrow and all the days after for it to last. Goodnight boys." 

Nigel could hear her smile through her words as she left, leaving them in the darkness once again, room only faintly lit by the street light right outside his window.

“I’m sure you’ll meet amazing people if we ever could get big,” Nick drew the other boy’s face closer, already right next to his own, “they’d hear you play and fall at their feet. You, we, can dominate the world, Nigel, I’m sure of it.”

Nick punctuated his words emphatically with a soft kiss, no longer afraid to mix their cardinal and cherry into a beautiful homemade shade, and smiled in response to Nigel smiling against him as the words sunk in.

_The planet wouldn’t know what hit it_. Nigel’s smile simmered and his legs shifted, allowing the other boy’s legs to nudge tentatively in the middle of his, careful to keep the bandaged one away and safe.

_We’ll be set alight, with world domination right in our hands._ His own hand curled its way through Nick’s hair, with him reciprocating while the darkness left them to comfortably explore - guided by sense, body warmth, and the smoulder of teenaged nerves alone. Along with the slotted feel of their lips, gently broken only for air.

_World domination._

He repeated it to himself like a mantra while his arm draped across his best friend's chest, roaming and feeling through the peeking gaps in the crimson blouse. Warm skin everywhere greeted his fingers, glowing white in the darkness if they could.

He tested the phrase. He murmured it. 

_World domination._

And like Nick’s lips, the words tasted so very good in his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> That wasn't too bad, eh? 😉


End file.
